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| Glen E. Peart with toy on the farm |
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| The same toy nearly 80 years later |
At the outset I wanted to tell you that my Dad is alive and well. Just wanted to show you these two photos with the same toy.
And share
a poem.
LUNCH WITH MY FATHER
We worked a half-day on Saturdays,
locked the shop at noon and drove
in his truck to the farm market.
That truck was a red International pickup, his right hand working
the H pattern shift on the steering column.
We needed tomatoes, cheddar cheese and a loaf of brown bread, sliced.
Then home.
My father would toast the bread for two sandwiches.
I’d find the jar of gherkin pickles in the fridge
and use a fork to catch three for each of us.
His three pickles always on the lid to save a plate.
He’d slice the tomato, butter the toast and build the sandwiches.
A hunk of cheese beside for each of us, and two glasses of milk.
So ended our working week.
Both of us tired.
Both of us content.
D.G. Peart
